Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 May 2020 Chloe Goulding
A
Naive
 May 2020 Chloe Goulding
A
You said you loved me
and I believed you
You said we can talk
Then took no notice of me.
You said you cared
I was convinced.

And I thought I could treat your pain
But it turned out to just be attention
and depravity
and manipulation
and deceit

Maybe I’m just naïve,
Because I trusted you.
I’ve let people ***** me over all the time. I never realise because I’ve always looked for the good in other people.
In a dream,
I see the raven
fly into the night;
his dark song beckoning
from his beak.
Shiny black wings promise
flight,
but to where?

I watch as the
pair of doves bellow
their songs of love
and with a rush of
angels wings
fly heavenward.

I hear the
bluebirds and
sparrows little hum of
hope fade softly into
the afternoon sun,
and I wonder,
what does it all mean?

Then I see them, and
many other kinds of
birds, with beautiful bright
colors,
Parakeets and parrots,
eagles and herons...even
a dodo and they are
all rotting in cages.
Some of the cages are
open,
others are closed,
but all the birds are
lying on their sides,
sad dead eyes,
staring blankly,
finished and flightless.
and I get it.
(pulling back the curtains)

looking outside
looking for hope
looking for the way to cope
looking at a tree
thoughts of hanging a rope

the window
reflection of a widow
her head slopes

the window
lays
an envelope
the note
she clears her throat
it begins to rain
she whispers my name
with no blame
with no shame
i love you
the
same

the window
(the curtains close)
Pages turn,
chapters end,
books are finished.
With resolution, and head
held high, I'll
fly away to somewhere
safer, where there's
less pain.
I try to love you,
but you just
push me away.
The heart is a
silly dreamer.
It sees life as it
should be...could be,
and not as it
really is.
The head sees what
the heart doesn't.
Emotions can be as
treacherous as a
rabid dog or a
razor blade.
I wish I were a
redwood or a rosebush,
or even a dandelion
just
swaying in the
breeze.
I found this
old hat at
the Salvation Army.
I liked it, it fit well;
kind of Sinatraesque.
I've received lots
of compliments.

But it doesn't stop the
cats from screeching in
the night.
It can't quench my
thirst.
It will never bring
my Mom and Dad back.
It's just a hat.

It can't fix my
relationship- it won't
break the horse or
heal
Lautrec's legs.
It won't give Vincent
his cobalt blue dreams or
give back Poe's
Annabelle Lee.
But
it's my hat and
I like it.

— The End —